


Bang! Bang! Ride the Lightning

by kittycastles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Crush at First Sight, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittycastles/pseuds/kittycastles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kira is generally coated with a fine splattering of paint. Malia generally looks like she's been the victim of a mild hit-and-run. One of them is an art major, the other puts on fishnets and roller skates and beats the crap out of people (and not in a cool superhero way, either). These things work together better than you'd think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally no experience with roller derby but I love _Whip It_ so that counts, right?
> 
> This is the first of probably a couple of fics centred around this coffee shop au, so expect Scallisaac and Draeden fics to follow soon enough.

The first thing Malia noticed was her nails. They weren't too long, but nice and rounded. They looked like they've been cleaned, but there was still a little something caught under a few of them. It looked like it might be paint, blue and bright.

Malia once found something colourful caught under her nails, after her second or third bout. It was red and crusty and probably blood, only she didn't know whose. Since then she'd kept her nails firmly bitten down as far as they could go.

By the time she realised what the colour-spattered hand was actually waiting for, she had been staring at it for longer than was probably appropriate. She quickly slid the cup towards the hand, trying hard not to spill it. She looked up to a flash of a shy smile, a mumbled 'thanks' and an obscuring sheet of shiny black hair. The girl hurried out, an overstuffed bag over her shoulder. She vanished just outside the door, swept up in a passing group of student protestors. For a while Malia strained to see her through a forest of picket signs.

Eventually, Derek gently reminded her she was supposed to be working.

Malia gently reminded him to fuck off. That was Monday.

 

~~~

 

On Tuesday, the girl didn't come in again and Malia was definitely not hoping that she would. Of course not.

Later that night, Malia got punched in the face.

It was partially her own fault, but it was mostly the new girl's fault. Heather. Was her name Heather? Malia was fairly certain it was Heather. At least, that was the name she yelled out as she want clattering down onto the track, prefixed by a snarled "fucking".

"Oh my god, I'm so, so sorry!" cried Heather, skidding to a halt. Around her, everyone else carried on, wheels thundering over wood, ducking around Malia as she struggled to her feet.

"Could you watch your damn limbs, maybe?"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Heather almost looked like she might cry, or maybe hit Malia again. Malia's vision wasn't doing so good, she couldn't quite tell.

"It's derby." Satomi looked perfectly serene, gliding towards the two of them. "Violence is at least eighty percent of the point. Accidental or otherwise." She turned to Malia. "Can you still skate?"

"I got punched in the face!"

"That isn't where the skates go."

Malia looked at her darkly, a storm hovering on her face.

"If you can skate, skate." She nodded her head towards the main pack, now rounding the corner to come back towards them. There were a few more contusions among the group and Violet's nose was actually bleeding, her eyes dangerously narrowed towards Caitlin.

"I promise, I'll be more careful. It won't happen again," Heather stammered.

"Actually, I'd quite like for it to happen again, you threw a good punch." Satomi began to skate backwards, more graceful than would be expected of a pensioner. "But do be more careful. Maybe aim for an opponent next time." She began to skate towards the pack, bringing her coach's whistle up to her lips just as Violet sent an elbow into Caitlin's throat. After the shrill whistle sounded, she began to yell.

"Violet! Control your more violent urges, _please_. We would like to avoid hospitalisation, if at all possible."

Heather turned to Malia and spoke quietly.

"I really am sorry, Malia. It's Malia, right?"

"Yes. And stop being sorry, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" The girl actually sounded concerned, which threw Malia a bit.

"Yes, I'm sure. I just … I should have blocked it, is all."

"Really? I'm not sure how you could, I didn't even know I was going to do it."

"Well I should have known and I should have blocked it." Malia bit out the words a little harshly. Crestfallen, Heather backed away.

"Well … sorry, then. "

Malia sighed, partially from regret, and followed her.

"Please stop apologising and just … get better at violence."

 

~~~

 

Wednesday brought with it new bruises blossoming over Malia's body. She could almost smile thinking about how many of them Heather had given her. But she didn't smile, because her jaw felt like absolute shit.

"You have got to hire more people."

Derek grunted noncommittally in return.

"I'm serious, I can't work Wednesdays. I have a bruise on my thigh the size of a fucking subcontinent."

"Don't swear, this is a place of business."

"You swear all the time," noted Erica as she swept in, tossing her jacket on top of the usual pile that formed every morning.

"Yes, but I'm the one who gets to fire people. So stop being late," as Erica made a face at him he turned to Malia. "And Boyd called in sick, same thing Isaac's got. Rush hour needs at least three people. One," he pointed at Erica, tying an apron over probably too many layers of denim and animal print. "Two," he pointed up at his own face. "Three," and one last time towards Malia. She responded with a surly look. This particular brand of surly she had learned from Derek, several seconds after some asked whether or not he was dating the personal trainer who came in every Tuesday morning at seven A.M.

Derek returned the surliness with one last swipe of the now-shining coffee machine. He inclined towards the thing with his head.

"First crowd should be coming in soon."

"No!" she cried. "That's work, I'm too tired to work. Let me do register instead."

"I will not have you scaring off all the customers. Again." She opened her mouth to protest. "You have a black eye."

She checked her reflection in the side of a milk jug. Sure enough, a blue and purple shadow was hovering over her right eye, promising to turn horrid and yellow soon. She tossed aside the jug and swore, startling the timid-looking student who had just crept in.

"I hate object lessons."

"Looks like you were the object," noted Derek.

"Don't mock me, Derek, I am a walking bruise."

He just laughed. "You chose to do it."

Erica called out from the back, "Too bad no one'll choose to do you."

Whatever angry retort he had tried to shoot back was quickly swallowed up by the hiss of steam as Malia set to work.

Another cloud of rising steam and it was past midday. Malia raised her arm to wipe away the sweat that was gathering on her forehead. As she brushed past her right eye, she felt it sting and winced. Dammit Heather.

Erica stomped past her, back from the world's shortest break, muttering under her breath various complaints about Isaac and Derek and capitalism in general. Malia was nearly finished her order and was ready to start voicing her complaints louder and in Derek's direction. Instead, she caught the eye of the customer next in line. She caught her eye and held it. Saying she was 'pretty' would probably be reductive, but she was. She was pretty. And, more importantly, gorgeous. Her skin looked smooth (and probably soft, too). Her eyes were dark and warm, her hair fell in black sheets over her shoulders.

Malia was probably staring again. She struggled to look away, glanced down at the girl's hands. They were familiar. Not as clean as before, no paint buried under her nails. Instead they seemed coated in a fine layer of earth.

She seemed to notice Malia's protracted staring, at least of her hands. She quickly jerked them off the counter.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she said as she vigorously brushed her hands on her skirt. She looked up and saw, apparently for the first time, Malia's blossoming bruise. "Oh my god," she repeated, mouth agape.

Malia was confused for a moment, before remembering that she looked like she'd been run over by a tractor.

"Oh, it's nothing."

"I, uh, bet I'd hate to see the other guy." She smiled a bit as she said it. Now that was definitely cute. "No other guy. Just a fist. Attached to a person." Even by Malia's standard, that was a weird thing to say. The other girl smiled wider now, a bit awkwardly. And then, oddly, blushed. She mumbled a short "thank you" and left, digging around in the same bag she had before, full to bursting. Both hands occupied, she pushed open the door with her back, hitching her skirt up on one side. Malia saw a small flash of colour on her thigh, as she watched the other girl leave. Partially hidden under her tights, a glimpse of bright orange and pale blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have more Kira, promise.
> 
> Questions, comments, queries, unsolicited adoration to deliver? Hit me up at [scallisaacd](http://scallisaacd.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering the title of this fic works best when said to the tune of 'Riot Rhythm' by Sleigh Bells. (This kind of makes me want to do an 8track playlist for this as well but we'll see.)

Kira's pencil hovered over the paper for a moment. She gently pressed it down, savouring the sensation of the paper's slight resistance against her pencil tip. She sketched out a long, smooth arc, eyes half-closed, head titled, drinking in the soft rasp of graphite and paper. She looked at her single line.

"Dammit."

She looked closer.

"God dammit."

Finally, under her breath, barely more than a whisper:

"Shit."

"Harsh words, sweetheart." Lydia's paper was filled with her own drawing. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear."

"I don't! Only when… look at this line!" Lydia leaned over. She furrowed her brow.

"It's a line. What am I suppose to be seeing?" One of her eyebrows shot up. "Does it do tricks?"

"No, it's just a line. A terrible line." Kira tossed her pencil aside, scattering flecks of graphite over the desk.

"I don't think you can really judge a line in isolation. It's just a line."

"A terrible line."

Lydia rolled her eyes and held up her drawing.

"What's this?"

"Um, it's a tree, right?"

"A terrible tree." Kira made to compliment the drawing, but Lydia carried on. "Made up of lines that are, objectively, I'm sure, excellent. But together?" She gestured again to the drawing. Honestly, Kira admitted to herself that it was a little … lifeless. "Not good," Lydia concluded, dropping her drawing back onto the table. "Besides, the more interesting part is probably why you think the line is terrible."

"I'm just … distracted, I guess?"

"By what?" Lydia paused a moment, took a long look at Kira's face. "By who?" Kira looked aghast.

"No one!"

"So, someone."

"No!" Kira stopped, thought for a moment, and relented. "Maybe. It's not important. She's just … a person."

"From past experience, people and persons tend to like you."

"You do remember me being perpetually alone during high school? You didn't even like me."

"I didn't know you. Now I do and now I like you." Lydia pulled her drawing back towards her, began shading at a branch. Kira's eyes followed the scratch of her pencil.

"Why do you always draw trees?"

"People also tend to like trees."

"Do they spend a lot of time in physics classes discussing what people tend to like?"

Lydia looked up at Kira, eyes wide. "What? I take electives. Besides, why are you always drawing foxes?"

Kira's hand drifted down to her skirt, to absentmindedly finger the hem.

"They're beautiful."

 

 

~~~

 

 

Kira spent a long time working out her next move. She wasn't naturally inclined towards actually walking up to people and talking to them, introducing herself and dispelling any tension with a quick joke and a bright laugh. She knew that was Lydia's forte, even in the short time they'd spent together (short compared to the time they could have actually spent together in high school if Kira had actually spoken three words to her). But Kira wasn't willing to go to Lydia for help, not after accidentally letting slip so much. Well, maybe accidentally. Maybe not. Kira's internal jury was still out on that one.

Regardless, Kira was set on doing this for herself, of making first contact all on her own, without relying on some more outgoing friend to do it for her. Keeping her goal close to her chest made Kira feel almost comically conspiratorial, like something out of a bad spy movie. But she close she kept it, all the same.

She needed a plan, of course, and a good one. It's not like she actually wanted to or enjoyed spending high school sitting around her dad's office. To Kira, it seemed like names were the biggest barrier. She didn't really want to keep referring to her mystery crush as 'girl with black eye who served me coffee and looked really hot doing it, despite said black eye'. If nothing else, it was just too wordy. But Kira didn't want to just traipse up to her, drop her own name, ask for hers. That was too brazen (and gutsy) and Kira didn't want to flag her hopelessly infatuated intentions right away. Maybe she was still caught up in her secrecy kick, but she wanted to be subtle, to be cool and suave and maybe even alluring.

She spent a lot of time concocting plans and constructing scenarios in her head, most of which had not even the slimmest chance of happening. Mostly she cursed the set up of small town coffee shops. If the girl worked at a Starbucks, everything would be much simpler. She'd give her name at the counter (she was always too shy to give a joke one anyway) and so the girl would know she was Kira and then Kira would see her little name tag, pinned on her chest, bright and clean and shiny and clear.

Kira would wonder what her name was, what it would sound like in her mouth. She'd roll consonants and vowels over her tongue and across the back of her teeth. She never actually went so far as to give the other girl a name, preferring to keep her phonetic fantasies purely hypothetical. After all, she would know her name soon enough, if the universe was willing.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Eventually, Kira had less of a plan and more of a general idea. She would go and order her coffee. She would make the best small talk she could, maybe comment on her healing injury, try to salvage the disaster that was their last encounter.

Baby steps, she thought. Tiny, minuscule, newborn baby steps.

She spent maybe thirty seconds standing outside the coffee shop, before forcing herself to move, scared of losing her nerve. She pushed open the door and the bell rang.

Kira marched to the counter, determined. She ordered, a chai latte (caffeine would get her all jittery). She handed over her cash, even managed to retrieve her change without the awkward over-hand, under-hand confusion she always dreaded. Kira stepped to the side, ready to put her plan into action.

But the plan, or the outline of the plan, or whatever she had thought would happen, fell right apart. Making her coffee wasn't brown-haired black-eyed mystery girl, but a blonde with eyes lined with bright green. Kira's preprepared opener stuck in her throat. She almost spluttered, but held it back. The girl finished her order, pushed it towards her. They met eyes. The blonde narrowed hers, maybe with a kind of idle curiosity. Kira grabbed her cup and backed away.

Fuelled by some kind of mad confidence, Kira had ordered to-go, not takeaway, so she quickly retreated into a chair in the tightest corner of the shop she could find. Ensconced behind her cup and her table, she glanced again at the blonde behind the counter who, unflustered had carried on with her work. The more Kira looked at her, the more familiar she seemed. She had two images of her, one of a pale and sickly girl shuffling through crowded corridors and another of the same girl, but older and brighter, with shiny hair and tall heels and colourful lips. Kira had never spoken to her, but she thought her name might be Erin or Erica or something with 'E's and 'R's. She'd been too giddy when she'd first entered to notice who was on the cashier, but he now seemed familiar too. He was tall, but with the stooped neck of someone who spent their life trying to avoid notice. Kira didn't know his name, she vaguely remembered that he had all but disappeared early into their final year.

She nursed her drink for a long time, hoping for her mystery girl to come in from the back, maybe returning from a break. The shop was hardly busy (she had hoped for a quiet background to their first conversation) and she could hear the two staff members talking to each other.

"So Boyd's still sick?" asked the tall one, his hands fidgeting idly with the cash register.

"God yes, it's so gross. I can hardly stand to make out with him," replied Erin or Erica, inspecting her vibrant nails.

"But you still do, don't you?"

"Of course. Have you seen him? He may be sick as hell, but I am still a red-blooded woman."

The tall one looked faintly perturbed by that.

"Thanks for that," he said. "If he's not doing kitchen stuff, shouldn't Derek? Where the hell is he?"

Starting with 'E', just shrugged. "Probably hitting on that personal trainer or something. God forbid he actually get laid."

"What about Malia?"

"Out of state, I think. A bout. Or match? Why do they call those things?"

"I'm pretty sure it's a bout."

Kira glanced at her watch as they continued to banter, in between actually serving customers. She had a class, ceramics, in only a few minutes. She was desperate to stay and try to glean more from the idle conversation, perhaps to get more details of the staff, maybe to work out who the girl was. From what she had heard, she thought it might be Malia that she was hoping to see, the girl travelling far to engage in some sport, maybe even one which left her bruised and battered.

She slid out of her chair regretfully, left her cup behind. She scurried towards the art buildings, disappointed in her the plan she had thought nearly foolproof, but now with a name drifting around in the back of her mind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God forbid I actually write a conversation between the two characters in the ship.  
> [Obligatory link to my blog](http://scallisaacd.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

"She's outside, you know."

Malia wasn't really listening.

"Who? What?"

"She's outside," repeated Erica. "The puppy dog."

Malia looked up and immediately knew what Erica meant, spying a dark head of hair through the glass window that fronted the shop. She pointedly looked down.

"Oh." She tried to keep her voice neutral. She was fairly sure it didn't work.

"I thought I was the puppy dog."

"We can have two puppy dogs, Isaac."

"Rude."

"Fuck off."

"No swearing," Derek came in from the employees' door, out the back.

"Oh great, grumpy cat's back." Erica was still smiling

"Stop calling me that."

"Why are we all animals?" There was a pleading note in Malia's voice. Her eyes strayed towards the still-closed door.

"Well it all started when Boyd became snuggly bear…"

Various moans worked their way around the staff, but everyone fell quiet as the bell above the door tinkled.

Erica let out a strangled gasp and roughly shoved everyone else out of the way, pushing them towards the employees' entrance. She even surprised Derek, who barely had time to form a threat before she was hissing him quiet.

"Puppy dog, puppy dog!"

The dark-haired girl slowly moved towards the counter, shoes scuffing the floor. With everyone else hidden out of sight, Erica installed herself at the cash register, whispering in Malia's ear as she passed her, dumbstruck, at the coffee machine.

"Knock 'em dead, Wily Coyote."

“Willy?”

“ _Wily._ ”

Erica took the girl's money, a winsome smile on her face. She scribbled on a cup and slid it towards Malia. She took it and concentrated. Hard. Maybe too hard actually, because it wasn't until she was finished and about to hand over the cup, resolutely silent, that she noticed, written beneath Erica's curly, barely-legible 'Chai' a phone number.

Malia's first thought was confusion. Did Erica want to date this girl? What would Boyd say? Probably nothing actually, but his eyebrows might be able to say something for him. Although the number didn't look like Erica's (Malia could never remember the digits, just the shapes). Actually it looked like Malia's. Actually, it was.

Of course by the time Malia had processed all this, the cup was handed over and the girl had noticed and suddenly she looked up, the hint of a smile and a shadow of wonder on her face.

"I didn't write that number."

The hint faded, the shadow passed. Malia blustered.

"I mean it is my number. But I didn't write it. Erica wrote it." Malia threw a vaguely accusatory finger towards the blonde girl, who offered up a knowing smile and wave.

"Oh," her voice was quiet. "Well I guess I'll just--"

"You can have it, though. I mean, I want you to have it." And the smile's back.

"Well what should I put it under? Girl from the coffee shop that had a black eye that one time?"

"It isn't really just that one time. And Malia."

"Malia," she savoured the word like it was something sugary. "Wait, what? You get black eyes a lot? Like in a superhero way?" She was cute when she joked. Well, Malia thinks it's a joke.

"No in like aroller-skates and fishnets way."

"Derby!" she exclaimed, like she just found the last piece of a difficult puzzle, hiding underneath a sofa.

"Um, yeah … derby. Roller derby."

"That's … that's cool," and then her eyes widened in shock. "And I'm Kira, by the way. Kira."

"Kira."

"Yeah, Kira … I'm gonna stop saying my own name now."

Kira smiled shyly.

Malia smiled brightly.

Erica smiled with a glint in her eye.

"Cute."

Kira looked at her.

"You went to Beacon Hills High, right?" she asked.

Erica thought for a moment, narrowed her eyes.

"You were Mr Yukimura's kid, weren't you? Quiet, shy, kind of a nerd?" Kira didn't answer, but she did blush slightly. "Cute," Erica repeated, moving off to where the rest of the staff had been shepherded. It was a slow day which meant, that apart from the one student asleep on his laptop, Kira and Malia were both alone. They both noticed.

"Shouldn't there be more people here?"

Malia looked around, slightly confused.

"It's only like early afternoon. It's a slow day, I guess."

"No, i mean staff. Last time I was here and there was like that blonde girl and a tall guy and a guy over there in the kitchen and like a really grumpy guy that was wondering around. He kinda looked like that cat, the grumpy cat?" There was a muffled laugh, more like a snigger, really, from the clump of people shoved just out of sight. Kira, brow furrowed, tried to see where it came from.

Malia, panicked, looked over and saw Erica driving an elbow into Isaac's side, trying desperately to cover her own mouth. Boyd looked resigned, Derek looked fuming.

"We're understaffed," she said quickly, turning back to Kira. It wasn't technically a lie, Derek did keep making her work after training. "Yeah, we need more staff."

“Oh, okay.” There was silence, too much of it, probably. Kira fiddled with the cup in her hands, Malia chewed her lip thoughtfully. Part of her mind scrabbled desperately for something to say to keep the conversation going, but the rest of her mind was quieter. She felt comfortable, even without some shared distraction to fill up the air with other sounds.

Behind Kira the sleeping student snorted and jerked awake. He blinked sightlessly for a bit, eyelids still slightly glued together, before spotting the two girls at the counter.

“Kira!”

They both turned as the student, now getting to his feet in full-on flail mode, downed his remaining coffee with barely a thought, despite the fact it would have to have been stone cold by that point (and clearly not effective, how long had he been out for?) He scooped up his computer and various papers in one arm and shuffled over to them. It was a surprisingly fast shuffle, Malia was impressed.

“Stiles, oh my god-“ she began, a little startled. But before she could continue he was already chattering away.

“Holy crap, I didn’t know you came here. It’s weird I haven’t seen, I’m at this place all the time. Best cup of joe around. Well, not best, but closest. And cheapest. Mostly cheapest, it’s not actually that close.” He paused for a second, possibly for breath. He looked at Malia. “Do I know you? I mean you serve me so, like, I know _of_ you but you actually look kinda familiar.”

“Oh Stiles, this is-“

“Malia! Oh my god. I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you! This is so… awkward, actually. Kinda.”

Malia just nodded. “Melonhead.”

“Melonhead?” he squawked. He quickly ran his hand over his scalp. Malia did notice that his hair was longer now. “Why am-“ and this time it was Stiles who was cut off.

“We called you Melonhead.” Erica emerged from side of stage, as it was. She stood by the register. “You gonna order anything else?”

“Did you two even hang out then?”

“She picked it up retroactively.” She fiddled with a button on the register. “Anything at all?”

“See now, Erica, you I did recognise, but I wasn’t sure if you recognised me, is the thing-“

“I did.”

Stiles looked wounded and was probably going to say something else, but his phone started screeching the most irritating default tone in the entire Apple library.

“Oh shit, I was meant to meet Lydia, like, now.” To Kira he said, “you have drawing class with her now, right?”

“Um, yeah, I was just about head there.”

“Can we-?”

“Just give me a second.”

Stiles moved off towards the door, shooting a sulky look at Erica as he did. She responded with an eyebrow raise.

Kira finally turned back to Malia.

“Melonhead?”

“Yeah,” she responded. She mimed electric clippers. “Used to have a buzzcut. He looked like a twelveyear old.”

Kira smiled. “Well, that’s not fair, I don’t think anyone looks good with a buzzcut.”

“You probably could,” Malia said, shrugging. Her tone was totally matter-of-fact and Kira couldn’t see even a trace of teasing on her face.

“I’ll … keep that in mind. Next time I feel like a change. Impulsive, but less permanent than a tattoo. Also less endangering than crime.”

“It’s practical, too. Less for someone to hold onto.”

“Is that what people do in derby?”

“Some people.”

“And what do you do.”

“Oh, I just don’t let them touch me.” And that same matter-of-fact, totally honest tone. Kira studied her fact for a minute, took in the shape of her eyes and the curves of her cheeks. She glanced down at the number on her cup, scrawled in someone else’s handwriting. To her left, that someone popped her gum loudly.

“I have to go. But I’ll call you.”

“Call, good. I don’t like texting.”

“Why not?” Kira’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell what people mean. i like the little picture things, though.” Kira took a note of that: all texting should be emoji-based. She could manage with that.

“Well I’ll call you then.” She quickly left, head down to hide her ridiculous blushing. The bell above the door tinkled again.

Derek was still stuck near the exit, crammed next to Isaac and Boyd.

“Why do I pay any of you people?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, they talked to each other, that's good.
> 
> go to [scallisaacd.tumblr.com](http://scallisaacd.tumblr.com) for a good time


End file.
